Territorial Area
by Cassend
Summary: "Ada wasn't a cheap woman by nature. Was she really so… carnal that she had to… If he had gotten there… perhaps an hour earlier…" Kinkmemefill Explicit


_ABC- Kinkmeme fill. WeskerxAda  
>Kinks- voyeurism; masturbation<br>_

_PRETTY MUCH AS EXPLICIT AS EVER WOOHOO.  
><em>

_I don't upload every request I have completed. Bahaha~! _

**Territorial Area**

Stained, smoky eyes were melting into her cheeks as she threw sink water to clean the shadow off them.

He didn't know why Ada was here, why she got off that train in Prague and slithered to this piece of shit dive, a warehouse caked in spilled alcohol and peeling at the seams, but here she was off duty, washing her face clean and letting purple water slither down the drain. She had bruises on her neck and her slender shoulders shook with heavy breaths.

He didn't know what happened exactly, but it wasn't hard to guess. With a quick mind like hers, she couldn't… demote herself, could she?

She swallowed and didn't see him behind her, stood back up and looked at the peeling plaster wall (no mirror needed). He didn't know what she was doing when her fingers slid down the length of her legs, under that miserably short red dress she was wearing, but his tongue pressed to his teeth as she rolled the lace down her thighs, stepping out of the thong and "tch-ing".

The thong went into the overflowing garbage can, and she went out the door.

He didn't want to follow her into the club, the bass already rendered him deaf, and the smell was so potent he had to swallow to keep from retching. Something pulled him though, to bash open the door and march into the thick of bodies, sliding over lubricated, sweaty skins and into things he just didn't ever want to see.

He swore he saw her, flitting amongst the lights, ghosting in and out of reality in this sticky sick place, he crawled after her, hissing her name, growling it. It felt like a nightmare, jamming past people, pushing them aside, near throwing someone to the ground. He swore he saw her, he knew he saw her, sliding into someone in that second, dancing. He clawed to her shadow and fought the sickness in his stomach, swearing to kill her, screaming because the music was too loud and everyone was fucking screaming.

He found her body by chance, shiny red satin, black in the dark, but flashing red. She was dancing, dancing like she was gone against a body he could hardly see. With every beat he saw her shift, swing her hips, slide. He saw the fingers slide under her dress, between her legs, saw her tip her head back and could almost hear the hiss on her lips.

He held his head and ran, plowing through people, throwing them aside, clawed his way to the city streets and finally gave in to the urge to vomit, leaning against a brick wall, weak and disgusted.

It wasn't as if she wasn't allowed to do this… he just expected _better_. He swallowed the defeat and resolved to meet her at her hotel room.

Hours later he was standing above her bed, over sheets still thick with her scent. He could see she was bored by the way her room looked, a bit of a mess, books on all the tables. She hated the interims between missions, they were too long.

He smelled from her room that she got lonely. Even the ice woman got lonely. Room service tidied up from day to day, so the scent was fresh and visceral, pooling from her bed, inviting him in. He tried not to think of it, but it was entrancing. He could almost see her, long legs stretched out and body lazily sandwiched between the pillows. He could practically smell the way she probably ran her palm down her stomach, sinking it between her thighs.

The reason he was here… it wasn't for this. She was a spec in the grand plan, a convenience at best. Considering her recent risky behaviors… A dirty convenience… His nose wrinkled as the aftertaste of the place welled up in his throat. Her scent was toxic so he stepped away from the bed, swallowed and went to the window. He didn't want to stay here, cooped up in this room, waiting on her as if she wasn't expendable. She was expendable…

She was a traitorous, lying bitch if he had ever met one. He could go so far as to say he hated her aloof nature at times. She was lucid and cold to the point of cruelty at times, but clearly mangy enough to go fucking about with strangers in a shit hole.

He damned her and condemned her, realizing fully he was using every excuse he could think of, and then some, to avoid inhaling the scent she stained on the sheets. He was a determined man, so he stayed away from the temptation, inhaled until her sex scent blended with the air. She was in a strange kind of depraved state, bored, probably unhappy with being stilled. The real issue was now, the fact that he had come to personally escort her out, and not called beforehand.

It led to this, him standing over her bed, craving an indulgence he denied himself regularly.

Ada wasn't a cheap woman by nature. Was she really so… carnal that she had to… If he had gotten there… perhaps an hour earlier…

He sighed through his teeth, walked to the couch to sit and wait for her. He felt warm under his long trench, sticky and hot, so he took it off. He tried to ignore everything and focus on the task at hand. Take her back, head to the US and infiltrate-…

Something smacked the door loudly and he growled. Female voices, both of them, one, unmistakably hers, in Slovak tongue preened past the door. He wasn't expecting it, he stood, coat a black puddle on the couch cushions. He didn't resolve to greet her. She was with someone, and that someone could be anyone.

A contact?

He didn't have to strain his ears as he sunk around the corner. Slovak wasn't something he fluently knew, but he didn't need to know Slovok to know what they were doing as they tumbled into the room. He sunk further back behind the divide, watched her as she slid into view.

There was a woman on her, not with her, but on her. He stared, watched, felt strange at the sight. The woman was native, fox-featured with caramel-colored hair, in his opinion not quite matching her caliber, but it was close enough. Ada seemed to submit under her lips, eyes shut in an expression of sheer relief.

Somehow, through these events, he forgot that he was irritated, and that was replaced with something akin to… amusement. It almost fit, the way that Ada reached to her own neck, letting her dress drop around her ankles, and the way the other woman murmured something, licking over the line of her black bra. It almost was too good, too… incredible to see her shake as the woman slid her face between Ada's legs. He heard the licking, he heard Ada's hitched breaths, and saw the way she gripped the end table.

Ada was having one hell of a night… he watched her enjoy it, murmur in Slovak for "a bit more". Her voice made him hard if he wasn't getting to it already. He shifted and continued to watch. Ada's head tipped back, she gasped, lips raw from kissing, cheeks flushing. Every breath she took slid through her skeleton, defined her athletic body. She was dripping down her thighs messily, and the other woman grabbed her hips and steadied her, found her button by the looks of it.

He couldn't watch it idle. He wanted her under him again, tipping her head back and sweating, gasping his name as he thrust up. They could use a chair, she could spread her legs and ride, and he could lie back and breathe her in…

He was supposed to be focused, grab her and get out. He wasn't supposed to be watching this with his teeth set into a nasty snarl. He prided himself on his professionalism and ability to set these things aside. Somehow, he kept his head, stepped out to into her field of vision. She saw him and smirked, fraction of a second, waved at him, and gestured to him to get back into his corner (he shook his head) or leave (he glared). The whole exchange made him twitch, and she broke eye contact to gasp.

He refused to take any more of it, and that's when she stopped him with a palm gesture and a hiss of delight. Her curvaceous hips were pinned down; he heard the vulgar slurps working her off, saw the tenseness in her muscles. She grabbed the table with both hands and purred in satisfaction, sweating, loving it.

She really didn't care if he was here or not, she was hot, built up, and a woman's head was between her legs. He stood there rigid, stiff in more ways than one. She wasn't going to stop, even with him there.

He ducked into the shadows and set his jaw, leaned against the wall and hid from her, for the moment. He was doing her a service, in his opinion.

He heard her pant, let out a soft whine, could almost taste her on his tongue when she came. He tried to ignore it, he heard the kissing resume, small flacks against flesh. She was a convenience, she was nothing but expendable- but he'd be lying if he said she wasn't attractive… and clever.

She was putting on a show on purpose.

He tried to disassociate himself form the situation, but it was impossible. He'd been in this place before, too many times, really. He knew the feeling of her thighs sliding around his hips, knew how good it felt when he could push into her pussy until he was balls deep, and she'd try to hold against him, but she couldn't and she was writhing in the end.

His hand slithered, a mind of its own and drunk on the flesh scent of sex, down the band of his pants, and he closed his eyes. He was hard, painfully so, the zipper down didn't change the steady throb of arousal in the pit of his stomach. He kept quiet about it, the leather of his glove clasping around his swollen dick, thumbing the skin unconsciously.

He heard the other woman cry out, groan, it made him peer around the corner to see her, ass up, head down into her partner's neck, fingers pumping between her legs. He shuddered at the sight of Ada, ripping the shirt off of this woman, Ada yanking off her frilled bra… _Ada's_ mouth all over her breasts, sucking, licking at her nipples, testing their weight in her mouth. Her fingers worked slow, testing spots, reaching deeper. The woman below her was crying for her, panting out Slovak flatteries.

Ada knew what she was doing, and she also probably knew what _he_ was doing. He felt his cock throb as she spread her legs, presenting herself, wet, red in places where her girl hand squeezed. He felt himself drip at that image, picture what he had done and what he could be doing with her body. He was leaking arousal, staining his glove, but he kept his hand moving, squeezing and pretending it was her mouth, her lips.

Self-loathing was an overwhelming feeling. He sucking in the air through his teeth and tried not to think of how disgusting this made him. His spidery fingers made enough pressure, were tight enough, slick enough as they ran his length.

He pretended that every squeeze was a suck; that she was there instead of making this other woman scream. His hips jerked, riding into his hand, slicking the sticky leather of his glove. He squeezed, imagined the hot tightness of her throat as she swallowed, the way her eyes would flutter closed and her shock-black hair would stick to her skull.

Her lipstick melting against his cock, her perfect nails digging into his hips, he choked on a moan as he heard her hot panting, the other woman's voice ricocheting around the room.

"Ada…" she groaned in a mantra. He hissed the same, could almost feel her lips on his body, tasting his muscles. He pretended his fingers were hers, swan-like and thin, cupping his sex and tracing the vein underneath. Hot blooded skin, sweaty skin, so slick with pre-cum. He pictured her body, on top of him like she was right now, with that girl, sliding her ass along his legs, grinding back and teasing him between the cheeks.

He kept himself as quiet as his lust would allow, squeezing, surrounded. His cock ached, he stroked it as the woman under his Ada screamed into her mouth. The smell of sex was thick in the air, it choked his throat- her especially.

He bit into his free wrist and pounded himself into his hand, cumming into the leather of his glove in spurts. His breathing felt so loud, near grunting, really. The ladies were done, he suspected they marked the club many times over with their scents.

Ada spoke in a hushed tone, Slovak, of sensuous lullaby quality. She was telling the woman that she would take her home, take care of her. She added a kiss amongst the words. It was hard to believe she was the frigid mercenary when she talked like that. He heard her get up, heard the rustling of clothes in the background, his chief concern being how disgustingly soiled his glove was.

He heard them leave and the irritation returned tenfold.

She'd be back soon. And then he would strangle her.

Or kiss her. At this point in time… both seemed like viable options.

He groaned as her scent overwhelmed his, an intruder in her territorial area.


End file.
